I just knew, at the age of 9, that I would be a Trumpet Player. The best in the entire town. At 10, that turned into the rush of knowing I would be the best trumpet player on the planet. At 12, I knew my purpose was song writing. 5 months later, I just had to become the most passionate baritone horn-ist in all of Small-Town, USA. At 15, my purpose turned back to songwriting, but this time from the seat of the piano. I was a girl with purpose.
My trumpet days are behind me, for the most part, left at my high school graduation. That baritone horn keeps it company. I do have horns next to the piano in my home, but they have a bit of dust on them, and that’s okay.
I’m 38 now, and today I had no purpose. In fact, I felt a bit disconsolate about it. Especially because I have been asked in the last week, “Oh, and what are you up to NOWADAYS? What do you DO?”
I am a mom of 5, and run a home 24 hours a day. My kitchen is a revolving island of comfort and conversation, messiness and mopping up. I have kids in High school and Elementary, and 1 that is a welder, and out of school completely, on his way to his own life. I cheer my husband when he has a bad day, and I balance the budget. I make all the appointments and phone calls, take those that need to, to appointments and back again, and sooth them into going there in the first place. I take and pick up kids from school and work, I take them to get clothes and shoes, and I listen to hubby relay his day, every day.
I have spent time in the work-field, but am currently raising a family full-time. And I couldn’t answer the question of “What Do I Do?” definitively. I felt keenly empty. Why was that?
Well, I would say it is because I lost my purpose. I forgot that it takes passion to make one count to oneself.
It doesn’t matter what we are doing currently in life, as long as we do it with purpose. I was not doing anything with purpose today. And that stank. I did look at Facebook about 270 times today. I did play online scrabble on my phone. I did wait for someone to call and need me (which didn’t happen), and I did go to the gym only to do such a bland routine that I watched the seconds on the machines go by, one at a time. I did forget to love being me.
How silly, to forget to love ones self. How silly, to need to be needed to the exclusion of finding the adventure in the day.
It is 9:06 PM, and I just got out of my hot tub, watered the flowers on my patio, and schlumped onto my bed. However, I did these last 3 things with purpose, and they felt great. Tomorrow, no matter what, I will use purpose in whatever I do. It will push back the whiny, needy, insignificant feelings that eat at our lives when we cannot always tell people in one sentence what we do with ourselves, “Nowadays”. And my purpose, whether I pick up my trumpet, or pick up my kids, will be what defines me. Not the physical action itself.
I think that trumpet is going to win out, tomorrow, though. And I’ll play it loudly, and with passion. The neighbors can ask themselves what THEY are doing with themselves, lately, that they are listening to a 38-year-old woman try to play “Blue Bells Of Scotland” well. And doing a fair job of it. I don’t mind in the least.